by Rob Donovan
Again the guards hesitated, but this time Fyfe shouted at them and they jumped into action. The master at arms helped Althalos to his feet and handed him a handkerchief. The Prince took it and dabbed at his lip. He was not surprised when the handkerchief came away stained with blood, the colour of claret.
“It appears those guards are not afraid of me,” the Prince said.
“They did not understand you. You were slurring quite a bit,” Fyfe said. Behind them the commotion continued as Jensen was escorted away. The young man was still protesting and called after Althalos. The Prince chose to ignore him, he had more pressing concerns.
He was not sure what irked him more: Atikass’s erratic behaviour or the guard’s reluctance to obey him. Was he finally being doubted? At each stage since his father had given him command, Althalos had a strong and respected leader to enforce his orders. Initially it had been Hamsun and now it was Fyfe. Did the men really believe in him? Or was it the one by his side who they truly followed?
He pushed the notion aside. It was a stupid idea. He had more than proved his worth. But then again, so had his father and a clear majority of his followers had turned against him. It was the previous king’s decisions that had cost his father his position. Was Althalos in danger of following in his footsteps?
He thought of sparing Vashna’s life and giving him the benefit of the doubt. He had also let the Desolate King escape. Was he too soft? The man had paused when he had ordered Atikass to the war council. Did they expect the former painted warrior to be punished and banished to the Pit? He had killed an innocent girl after all, as well as attacking the King when he had first encountered him.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Fyfe asked.
“No, I am not sure. Not sure at all”. He hated the way the master at arms assessed him. The man gripped Althalos’s biceps and looked into his eyes. What was he looking for? Any sign of madness? Did he expect Althalos to suddenly lose his mind like his father?
“I do not expect you to question me Fyfe. See to it that my orders are carried out and make sure Norva is well and truly detained. The last thing we need is the for the Ghost Assassin to go on a vengeful rampage.”
Althalos shrugged Fyfe’s hands off and barged passed him. He glimpsed the hurt on Fyfe’s face but did not turn to apologise. He did not need to, he was the Prince of Frindoth. No, he was more than that. He was the King in all but official ceremony.
“Send for Ellory as well. I want his opinion on Atikass’ mind when he delivers his explanation.” Althalos barked as he strode down the corridor.
“Where are you going?” Fyfe called out.
Althalos did not respond. He did not know where he was going. He stormed down the corridors anxious to be away from everyone. He thought about finding Shana but then dismissed the notion. He needed to talk to someone who would not be so sympathetic; someone he could trust to be discreet.
Five minutes later he found himself outside Hamsun’s door. He paused and collected himself before knocking.
“Come,” Hamsun’s deep voice replied.
Althalos pushed open the door to find the great warlord sitting in a wooden chair sharpening his axe. As usual he did not wear any clothing on his upper body and his beard was braided into three strands. The sight reminded the Prince of that fateful day when he had entered Hamsun’s hall and the warlord had discovered his family had been hung and turned to stone. For a minute the Prince was unable to speak. Hamsun’s eyes appeared dead.
"You knocked on my door my Prince. I assumed you would be the one to start the conversation," Hamsun said.
"Yes, sorry," Althalos muttered but was unable to think of what to say next. Why had he come to see Hamsun again? The man had suffered more than most. He did not need the burden of the Prince's problems.
"Are you going to come in?"
The Prince stepped inside the room. It was one of the more functional rooms in the palace. There was not much to recommend it, consisting of a bed, a sideboard, two chairs and a basin. Even the latrine was situated in a separate room down the corridor and shared with others. Rumour had it Hamsun had insisted on taking it above the plush accommodation normally reserved for guests of his status.
Althalos stepped in the room and closed the door. Hamsun gestured for him to sit down but the Prince declined. He did not wish to be too long.
"I have no right to ask this but I could do with your counsel."
"You have every right to ask it and I would gladly give it. I am still yours to command. My reasons for enjoying this world may have been taken away, but not my sense of duty."
The Prince did not know what to say to that and so he merely nodded. He was touched by the man's words and all of a sudden realised how much he missed Hamsun's company. It had been great to reunite with Fyfe but their relationship had always been one of teacher and student. Fyfe had gone out of his way to dull this dynamic but there were still undercurrents whenever they talked. Althalos noticed the approval or disapproval in the man's expression whenever he made a decision to the point where Althalos felt he was being assessed most of the time.
"How are you feeling?" Althalos eventually asked.
"I don't know is the honest answer," Hamsun admitted. "I was furious. I wanted nothing more than to find Cordane and smash his face into a pulp. That anger has not quite abated but now it is tinged with..." he shrugged as if he couldn't put a label on it.
"Grief?"
Hamsun nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is that." He set aside the axe and stood, arching his back and placing his hands on the base of his spine as he stretched. There was an audible click which Althalos grimaced at although Hamsun seemed not to notice. "What about you lad? You seem to have done alright since I abandoned you."
“You didn't abandon me," Althalos began but Hamsun waved the protest away.
"Yes, I did. My actions might have been understandable but I definitely left you when I had been charged by your father to guide you."
"Was that his only instruction? Not to protect me?"
Hamsun smiled. "He never really told me anything specific. I think it was just implicit. He trusted you to lead effectively. I was just there for support and to stop you doing anything stupid. It turns out I was not needed”. Hamsun chuckled and shook his head. "You’re what? Not even nineteen summers and already you have achieved more exploits than many monarchs before you combined."
"I haven't achieved anything yet."
"That is where you are wrong. But I will not bicker with you lad, I know what you mean."
"I just..." Althalos hesitated and walked over to the window. This side of the Palace did not offer a great view when compared to the front. The plains of Rivervale stretched before him but there were no rivers, waterfalls or trees to break up the horizon. It was a blanket of green and yellow. Compared to other parts of Frindoth though it was still gorgeous.
"You thought you would have handed back responsibility to your father by now."
"Yes," Althalos said and turned to Hamsun with a smile, pleased that the warlord understood him so perfectly.
"I know what you mean lad. It happened to me when I became warlord. The only thing I can compare it to is having a baby. The squirming ball of joy screams and cries at all hours and you think each day that you will wake up and it will all change, that you will get the sleep you crave, but each day it dawns on you that this is your life now and you better get used to it."
Althalos frowned. He had never heard ruling the Kingdom described like having a screaming child before.
"You've tamed Unger though, who would have guessed that?"
Althalos recalled how argumentative Unger had been before the battle of the Basin. He had been as obstinate as Tulber but since that victory the warlord had mellowed somewhat and become more amenable. "He has become quite useful."
"That is a credit to you and him. I would never have said he would change his personality so swiftly."
Althalos saw the way Hamsun cocked his head as he spoke and rea
lised the warlord was not just talking about Unger. "You heard about Atikass?"
Hamsun nodded. "I saw him being escorted across the courtyard. What did he do?"
"Ah you know, stabbed a young girl the Ghost Assassin was looking after."
"For any particular reason?"
"I think she may have breathed."
Hamsun smiled. "What did Norva do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing yet," Hamsun corrected and then let out a low whistle. "As if you didn't have enough to deal with."
"I told the guard to escort him to the war council and sent for my father and mother."
"Why?"
Althalos shrugged. "I guess I wanted this resolved quickly. He must have had a reason and I am hoping it is a good one. We are going to need his ability with the sword if we are going to stand any chance in this fight."
They lapsed into silence as they both recalled the battle with Atikass. He was then known as Stasiak and he had comfortably held both Althalos and Hamsun at bay. "If you like the answer he gives do you trust him enough to have him by your side in the battle?"
"I don't know."
"I wouldn't," Hamsun said. "You need to be focused in a battle and not be worrying about someone stabbing you in the back."
"I agree, but I also want him where I can see him," Althalos let out a sigh. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I guess this is what being Prince is all about. Are your men ready?"
Hamsun picked up his axe and hefted it over his shoulder. It dwarfed his head; the metal catching the light that shone through the window and sparkling at the tip. "Ready and desperate to kill. As am I."
"Go join them then. That time is now upon us." The Prince held out his hand and Hamsun clasped the Prince's forearm, his thumb pressing into the joint at the elbow. They looked into each other's eyes and nodded. Althalos saw something of his old friend in that look.
"Hopefully we will clasp arms again when this is all over."
"When Rivervale's plains have run red with the blood of our enemies."
Althalos released the grip and left the room to deal with his family.
A few minutes later and for only the second time in his eighteen summers, Althalos stepped into a room with his entire family. His father stood by the window overlooking Lilyon's waterfall, no doubt lamenting the stones that were never cast into the pool at the Ritual. He stood with his hands crossed behind his back and although it was a pose the Prince was used to seeing, the man that held it now, was a shadow of his former self. His father's hair was parted at the base of his neck to reveal thin, mottled skin. The once muscular arms were now thin and the fingers on one of his father's hands twitched slightly. His mother sat on the chair usually reserved for the Mantini warlord. The Prince was not surprised as he had often been told his mother had been born there. She sat straight-backed and smiled as he entered the room. He instantly smiled back recalling the only memories he had of her - warmth and kindness.
Atikass stood in the corner of the room. Two soldiers accompanied him, one with a short sword pointed at his mid-rift and the other with a crossbow trained on his chest. Atikass did not seem concerned in the slightest at their presence. The young man's brown hair was dishevelled from the scuffle and several strands rose in the air at the back of his head. Strands that I also have and have trouble flattening down.
Fyfe stood off to one side and nodded as Althalos looked at him.
"Thank you, Fyfe, you may leave us."
Atikass looked at the Prince, the surprise evident on his face. It mirrored the expression on Fyfe's face. The master at arms mouth opened and for a moment Althalos thought the man was going to protest and cause a scene, but thought better of it motioning the other guards from the room.
When they had left, King Jacquard turned from the window and took a seat at the other end of the table. Althalos winced. He had hoped his father would take his usual spot at the head but it was clear he did not wish to lead the proceedings. Althalos sat in his father's spot, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
"Are you not going to ask your brother to sit?" The Queen asked.
Althalos did not open his eyes. "He is a Prince of Frindoth, just like me. He does not need my permission to sit in our family home."
He opened his eyes to see the shocked expression Atikass gave him. He looked over to their mother who gestured for him to sit opposite her. At the other end of the table, Althalos noticed his father's clenched fists.
"Not quite the family reunion I had hoped for, but it will do," the Queen said. No one smiled.
"She was about to kill you," Atikass said addressing Althalos. "She had one hand on the knife which would have ended your life. All she had been waiting for was a chance to get close to you."
Althalos took another deep breath. It had been a technique Jefferson had taught him. If you are not sure how to respond, take a deep breath and give yourself time to think. Atikass spoke with a calmness, there was no plea to be believed in his voice, just a statement of fact. The news was not entirely surprising. As he had walked back from Hamsun's room, he had thought through the possible explanations his brother would give. This one made the most sense for his brother's actions, although Althalos had a little trouble seeing the girl as a threat.
"Why?"
"She was Blackthorn."
This, Althalos had not been expecting. The girl had seemed too weak, too scrawny. If she was Blackthorn shouldn't she have been more assured?
"What's Blackthorn?" his father asked. To Althalos's surprise, it was his mother who answered.
"It is Cordane's initiative and the reason our son was taken from us," his mother said. She went on to provide a similar explanation to the one Atikass had given less than an hour before. His father frowned and then lowered his head. Rather than be fascinated by the level of complexity and patience of Cordane, Althalos watched his father's demeanour crumble as he retreated into himself. He saw the news as another area that he had failed his family and failed his kingdom. In those few moments Althalos realised his father would never rule Frindoth again.
“Why do you say she is Blackthorn?” his mother asked.
“That she was Blackthorn?” Atikass said. “Several reasons.”
“Like,” King Jacquard said when Atikass was not forthcoming. Atikass sighed as if the reasons should have been obvious to them all. He held a finger aloft as he listed his reasons.
“One: I didn’t like her story. If he had wanted to, Cordane would have found her. He always does. Nothing eludes him.
Two: it made no sense that they didn’t kill her. Norva reckoned they kept Scamp alive to lure Norva into rescuing her. I don’t believe that. Killing Scamp would have achieved the same thing. The Ghost Assassin would have come after them out of revenge.
Three: she flinched when I got this out.” Atikass withdrew the small glass vial from around his neck. The viscous liquid caught the light and swirled inside the container. Althalos tried to recall Scamp’s reaction but realised he had not seen it. He had been too wary of Jensen’s response and readying himself for the young man’s attack. Scamp could have sneezed and he would not have noticed.
“I didn’t notice,” Althalos admitted.
“Nor would you have. It was only the smallest of movements but she definitely moved towards the potion.”
“Anything else?” Althalos asked.
“Her name begins with the letter S,” Atikass said.
Althalos could not help but scoff, his father did the same. “What does that mean?” the Prince asked attempting to keep the derision out of his voice. The first three reasons were hardly definitive proof, this last explanation seemed ludicrous. He had the sinking feeling that his new brother’s evidence was not going to be good enough.
“Each victim of Blackthorn has their name changed to one beginning with “S.” Stands for “Submissive” or “Soiled,” I guess.”
“You guess?” Althalos questioned.
“Probably then, Cordane is twisted l
ike that.”
“Is it a fact that he changed the names?” Jacquard asked. “It seems quite a stupid thing to do and makes his victims easier to identify.”
Atikass looked away and shrugged. “No not a fact, I am just surmising.”
“Surmising! You mean you weren’t told this?”
“The people I met who had been subjected to the Blackthorn treatment began with the letter S.”
“But that was three other people,” Althalos said.
“Well two others. I never got the name of the third person.”
“Glooms alive,” Jacquard said and took a deep draught of the wine in front of him.
“Have you got a problem old man? At least I was in the room to save your son and not locked away in a room,” Atikass suddenly shouted.
Jacquard stood and was met instantly by Atikass jumping to his feet. Both men held their arms rigid by their sides, neither wanting to be the first to initiate the fight. The poses were so similar it sent a frisson down Althalos’s spine.
The Prince watched as his mother also stood and demanded the two calmed down and resume their seats. Althalos felt removed from the scene as if he were merely an observer. Was this how families acted?
His father sat down first. He looked across the table at Althalos and rolled his eyes. Atikass caught the exchange and frowned as he could not see what the issue was. For someone so formidable, Atikass’ intelligence seemed limited.
“Listen, believe me or don’t believe me, I don’t care.” Atikass said. “The girl was about to pull a knife on you. I saved your-”
“Whoa, wait. She was about to pull a knife on me?”
“Yes, she had her hand on the knife when I lunged at her.”
Althalos looked across at his mother and shook his head. Her cheeks had reddened in embarrassment for her other son. She offered a tight smile and he could see that she pleaded with her eyes to have some more patience with Atikass.
“Why didn’t you mention the knife to begin with?” Althalos said.